


By Chance

by kosciuszkovevo



Series: The Rising Dawn [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Lysa is having a rough time, Oblivion fanfiction, Where is Baurus, ok Uriel, you are the one from my dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 08:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10331027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kosciuszkovevo/pseuds/kosciuszkovevo
Summary: Upon her imprisonment in the dungeons of the Imperial City, Lysa Windcaller is thrown into a plot of catastrophic scale- The Emperor is assassinated, and it's up to her to find his last heir.





	

     The first thing Lysa Windcaller felt as she woke was the cold, damp stone floor of the cell beneath her.

In the first few moments of awakening she could not move, her chilled limbs refusing to cooperate as she struggled to find out where she was. As she slowly but surely regained what little energy she had left in her, Lysa attempted to move her arms out to stretch herself. To her dismay, her hands were bound securely in rusted iron manacles. A thin layer of grime and mud covered her arms and legs, and damp hay lay scattered across the room. As she examined herself, Lysa found some cuts, bruises, nothing a Restoration spell couldn’t fix. The dark cell was only illuminated by a torch opposite of her cell, and the only other source of light came from the window several feet above her, too high to reach and too small to crawl through. The bleak light shone through the wrought iron bars and onto the prison floor, and onto her face. Groaning quietly, she attempted to stand up. After several minutes awake she found confidence, and rose to her feet.

  
     There was nothing more to her cell than a pitiful pile of hay in the corner, and a bucket. This bothered Lysa greatly- she despised dirtiness and tried to keep clean always. It was not that she grew up in a rich or clean household- it was simply her nature to keep things orderly.  
As she walked around the tiny expanse of the prison cell, she finally leaned against the icy stone wall and looked hopelessly up at the window, as if the inanimate object would bring her some inspiration to escape. What little grey light seeped in dimly illuminated the walls and the floor of the cell- As if the cell itself wasn’t enough.

    _I shouldn’t be here, she thought. I’m innocent_ \- but did they listen? No- and they’ve taken Taleel-Shei too. A hard lump formed in her throat. The kicking, the screaming, her terrified best friend being hauled off as a prime suspect. But what crime had the two of us committed? We were good citizens of the Empire, law-abiding, respectful students from Windhelm’s Mages Guild.  
But it was all for naught- they were mistaken for being a part of a necromancy clan. Both Taleel-Shei and Lysa perfectly matched the descriptions of the vagabonds the Imperial Rangers were hunting- two Mages, one Breton, the other Beastfolk. But what could you do for yourself, when confronted with the law? To them you are guilty, no matter what you say. It had been a wake up call for Lysa- the law wasn’t always right.

     “What on earth do you think you’re doing, staring at that window?” A voice sneered from the darkness. “Oh, do you suppose,” it continued, “that it will just magically open if you look at it long enough?” Lysa whipped around, and peered through the bars outside of the cell, trying to identify where the voice came from.

  
     “Who’re you?” She asked uncomfortably, frustrated that the torch did not give way the speaker’s identity. Whoever it was clicked their teeth in annoyance, and jibed in response.

     “Psh, why would I ever tell you? It doesn’t matter anyway. But you… pale skin, and a snotty expression- you’re from High Rock, one of those Bretons!” Before Lysa could reply, the voice continued, but now the owner became visible as he came into view.

     “The masters of magicka, right? Hmph. You’re nothing but a stuck-up harlot with cheap parlor tricks!”  
Albeit being dimly lit, Lysa could see that her insulter was a Dunmer, his reason for imprisonment unknown. She glared at him, refusing to speak. Lysa had never been one for quick-witted comebacks, she didn’t speak smoothly when embarrassed or frustrated. All she could do was glare daggers from her cell.  
“Go on, go on!” he goaded, rattling the iron bars. “Cast one of your fancy spells at the window and see if those bars disappear!” The elf jeered. “See if you can free me too,” he added, a little quieter this time. Lysa, refusing to play along with whatever he had in store for her, simply stood still and continued to glare at him. Seeing that his fellow prisoner wasn’t going to try anything, he smirked and added,

“No? What’s the matter? Not so powerful know, are you Breton?”  
Finally, Lysa tried to find her voice- except she couldn’t. The lump was still in her throat, and she could not speak. A mixture of guilt and anger washed over her- who was he? I’m not supposed to be here, with a burnout like him!

     “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you? You won’t be so quiet when the guards come for you, you pathetic little thing.” He pressed his face up to the bars, and Elisa could see him clearly now. Like any other Dunmer, he was grey-skinned and his deep red eyes glimmered wickedly.

      “You’re not leaving this prison ‘til they throw your corpse in the lake.” His eyes glimmered wickedly, the pale light illuminating them like rubies. “Oh, that’s right, you’re going to die in here Breton! You’re going to-!”  
He was immediately cut off by a low murmur of speech that could be heard down the corridors, beyond the locked iron gate. Both Dunmer and Breton froze suddenly, they both knew what was coming. As the murmur continued, the elf slowly turned to face Lysa, grinning ominously.

     “Hear that? That’s the guards,” he threatened, “and they’re coming for you!”  
He was almost gleeful in the way he said it, as if he looked forward to her most imminent death. It felt like a weight had been dropped into her stomach. In that moment, Lysa understood what it meant to be a caged animal, knowing exactly what your fate was. It was no use in fighting them- her hands were bound and she was exhausted. The elf simply grinned at her from across her cell. The voices grew louder, and with every passing second Lysa’s heart beat faster, this was it, this was it, this was the end and this was it.  
Two guards came into view- no, they couldn’t be guards, Lysa thought. They aren’t wearing the Imperial armor. But why would they be here? It was only when a man, much older than they, hurried in after.

      “My sons... they’re dead, aren’t they?” The robed man uttered gravely, his voice sounding ominously desperate.

     “We don’t know that, Sire,” a woman Lysa assumed was the captain answered, “The messenger only said they were attacked.”

     Seeming grave, the man responded, “No. They’re dead, I know it.”  
The woman was about to speak to him, when she turned towards Lysa. _By the Nine, what does she want with me?_ Lysa’s mind raced. As the tiny entourage drew closer, her blood turned to ice. The armor, the helmets, were those real Akaviri katanas? The elder man was decked in finery, his whole self glittering like a gem, like the gem that hung around his neck. If those soldiers were who she thought they were, than that must mean-

     “Glenroy! Who’s this prisoner?” The woman barked, jabbing a gloved finger at Lysa. “I specifically ordered for this cell to be cleared!”

      “I’m sorry, Captain, a usual mix-up with the Watch! You there, prisoner! Stand by the window, we won’t hesitate to kill you.” Glenroy motioned for her to move with his hand, but Lysa remained entrenched to the spot.

     After a couple seconds, she suddenly hustled over to the window, and felt a bead of sweat trickle down her forehead. The captain fumbled for a group of keys, and pressed it into a crack in the wall. Miraculously, the niche was made of false rock, a back panel that revealed a passageway into unknown depths.

     The female Blade captain looked at Lysa warily before gesturing for the aged man and his entourage to follow, and warned, “We better be sure about this route- it only opens up from the outside, Glenroy.”  
Glenroy nodded, and attempted to gently guide the man through the gaping hole in the cell wall. But he remained rooted firmly in place, and for the first time Lysa dared to look directly at him.

     His eyes, much to her shock, were locked onto hers. An eerie silence fell through both the prisoner and the group, as Lysa recognized one emotion crossing the old man’s face: recognition.

     The third Blade, the youngest, prompted the man.“Sire, we don’t have enough time. Let’s go, leave this prisoner to-” The older man shook his head, brushing off the Blade with his hand, and calmly walked up to Lysa. A thousand thoughts were racing through her mind- _Who was he? How did he know her? What did he want? What was he doing down here?_ Lysa never had time to ponder these thoughts, as the elder man began to speak.

  
     “You… I’ve seen you… come, let me see your face,” he looked into her eyes, struggling to recover a long forgotten memory. He paled, and continued, “You are the one from my dreams...then the stars were right. This is the day. Gods give me strength.”  
One of the Blades began to speak, but quickly swallowed his voice. Lysa could find no words to convey her shock. Finally, after what felt like hours, Lysa mustered up what little courage she possessed.

     “Who are you?”


End file.
